


Taunting Eyes

by thebaddestwolf



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1210441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebaddestwolf/pseuds/thebaddestwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billie is a little too enthusiastic while filming the kissing scene for “New Earth,” leaving David to wonder if deeper feelings are bubbling beneath the surface.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taunting Eyes

Well, that look will certainly have to go.

The director had yelled cut and now David’s just standing there, hair disheveled from her — well, Cassandra’s — hands, smirk so wide his teeth are showing in one corner, eyebrow arched impossibly high. 

"Oh please," she says, shooting him a furrowed look, running a hand through her hair as her eyes land on anything but his face. 

"But Bills," he starts, inching closer, playful lilt in his voice. 

"I don’t want to hear it," she cuts him off, crossing her arms in a way that unintentionally enhances her breasts even more than the push-up bra she’s wearing. Realizing this, she holds his stare, daring him to look. Of course he does, such a man, the slightest of glances downward, but she catches it and she’s smiling for having gained back some ground.

"I was just doing what the scene called for, don’t over think it," she says, fidgeting as a wardrobe person makes adjustments on her shirt. 

He shoves his hands in his pockets and pretends to ponder this, circling her slowly until the crew member scurries away, looking for more pins. She doesn’t realize he’s standing behind her until she feels his lips ghost her earlobe.

"Funny," he says lowly. "I don’t recall anything in the script implying there was need for tongue." 

***  
The scene is set for the next take and soon Billie’s, er, Rose’s lips are on his again, most definitely closed and unmoving this time, as she gently runs her hands through his hair. She’s thinking about how he can’t possibly know she’s enjoying the sensation — soft and glossy and malleable — when she feels his hips lightly push against hers. 

"Cut!"

Now she’s the one raising an eyebrow at him as he scratches at the back of his neck, looking downward. 

"Uh-huh," she says gleefully and he glances around coyly. "Was that little move in the script, then?" Her finger circles in the air, motioning toward his belt. 

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," he says, clearing his throat. The hair team comes to tame his locks in preparation for the next take and Billie watches his adams apple bob under her stare. 

***

"Action!"

Billie’s grasping at his hair in earnest now, lips gliding against his like they’re fucking star-crossed lovers reunited at long last, and damn, he’s still frozen against her. Sodding theater-trained actors, always in character. 

She needs to elicit a reaction from him, wants him to have two strikes to her one, so that he’ll forget all about the brush of her tongue against his lips. As a last resort she makes a quiet sound at the back of her throat, so soft you wouldn’t hear it if you weren’t inches away, or not, as it were. 

With that noise his hands grip her waist — ah-ha! — that’s certainly not in the stage directions, and she’s breaking away, beaming at him in victory, only to find a matching expression on his face. 

She’s vaguely aware that the director is eyeing them strangely, suggesting everyone break for lunch, but Bilie’s mostly concerned with his glib look and what right he has to be smiling so obnoxiously.

"Don’t think that was in the script either, mate," she says, surprised at how defensive she sounds.

"Oh, and that little moan was?" he replies, eyebrow shooting up. "Last time I checked this was a children’s show."

"Come off it, that was hardly a moan!" 

 ”Well, what was it then?”

"A taunt," she says evenly, buttoning the top of her blue shirt.

"Pft, you thought that would taunt me?" he replies, brow furrowing.

"It worked, didn’t it?" 

He leans toward her, voice so low it raises the hairs on the back of her neck.

"You were practically grinding against me, Piper," he says, eyebrow so high it’s nearly encroaching on his hairline. 

Billie can only roll her eyes in response, frustrated by this turn of events where he thinks  _she’s_  the one turned on here. She gives him a long steely glare before turning away, retreating in the direction of her dressing room. 

***

Her anger boils as she stomps through the vast studio halls, entering her designated room and slamming the door closed. She sits down on the couch, tucking her legs up beneath her, and tries to stop her thoughts from returning to the feeling of his hands gripping her waist.  
  
Fuck.

If she really thought about it, proverbial gun to her head, Billie supposed she had always been attracted to him. Always, of course, meaning since she had met him at that clandestine dinner months ago. Most actors are flirty but he treats flirtation like an art, all sheepish charm and suave, sneaking up on her in a way that she didn’t even notice it until she was running her tongue along his lips while the cameras were rolling.

_Fuck_. She grabs a nearby pillow and hugs it to her chest, wishing the redness in her cheeks away. 

There’s a knock on the door and before she can answer he’s poking his head in, hair still askew from her hands. She swallows.

"Everything okay?" His voice is tentative, but he’s confident enough to step into the room and close the door behind him. Cocky sod. Cocky sod with a ridiculously lush bottom lip. 

"Yeah, it’s fine," she says, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly feeling shy. "I’m fine."

“‘Cos you seemed a little upset…” He’s still hovering by the door and she’s glad he’s hesitant enough to stand there, rather than plop down on the couch next to her like he normally does, throwing his feet up on the coffee table and making scuff marks on her magazines. 

"I wasn’t upset," she says, wishing her voice sounded less shrill. She places the pillow down on the couch and squares her shoulders. "Just annoyed that you’re trying to pawn off your little moves on me." 

He seems tickled by this, throwing his head back in a dramatic laugh — bloody theater actors — before meeting her eyes again with that damned arched brow.

"What you call ‘little moves’ I call a perfectly normal physiological response to someone dragging her fingers through my hair, moaning against my mouth, running her tongue along my lips." 

Her eyebrow is arched now, mirroring his inch for inch, and suddenly she’s standing. 

"I have to say, Bill, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you actually…"

That look has got to go.

Before she can think better of it, before he can get to the end of that sentence, she’s crossing the distance between the couch and where he’s standing. 

She moves so fast he actually takes a step back and she’s wondering if he thought she was going to smack him as she grabs his head and crushes her lips against his. She may as well have hit him the way his breath catches in his throat, but she forges on, running her hands through his hair again with abandon this time, smiling against his lips as the force of her movement knocks the back of his head against the door. 

Letting him go, she steps away to marvel at her accomplishment — he’s pinker than he was before, lips swollen, shoulders heaving, and his eyebrows are most certainly level. After basking in the achievement of having literally wiped the smirk off his face the doubt seeps in; there’s no pawning this off as getting carried away during a scene. No cameras are on them now. 

She takes one step back before he’s on her, hand splayed through  _her_  hair, lips parted and moving against hers. Now it’s Billie who can’t help but gasp as he cradles her lower back, walking her backwards until the backs of her thighs bump into the arm of the couch. She sits instinctively and he pushes between her legs and, dammit, why couldn’t Rose have worn a skirt in this episode?

David slides his tongue between her lips and she actually moans this time, a proper moan, one that she’d probably be embarrassed about if his hand wasn’t inching up the inside of her shirt. She tugs at his hair and he, wait, did he just  _growl_? She tugs again. Yep, definitely a growl, a delicious leg-quivering growl. 

His hand glides over her bra — well, the wardrobe department’s bra — and he squeezes her breast through fabric and padding before retreating, beginning to work at the buttons on her shirt. After releasing two or three he gives up, breaking from her mouth momentarily to pull it up and over her head, something ripping in the process. 

Throwing it on the carpet he descends on her again, the velocity of the movement throwing her off balance and she’s toppling backwards onto the couch, David following suit. They’re each giggling against the others shoulders as they shimmy along the cushions until she’s lying flat on her back and he’s hovering over her. 

They’re both still in costume — well, save for her shirt — and Billie realizes how ridiculous this is, the Doctor and Rose groping each other like teenagers who got into the schnapps. He lowers his mouth to hers but she stops him, meeting his gaze, looking to find what had changed in the last few minutes, checking to see if things would still be alright between them after… after wherever this was heading.

He arches his eyebrow at her. She arches hers right back. Yeah, they’re going to be just fine.

She pulls at his head gently and his lips are on hers again, tongue exploring her mouth in a way that keeps her moans coming. Billie arches against the couch and twists her arms beneath her, unclasping and removing her bra, and he breaks their kiss, pushing himself up on his arms so he can look at her. 

She’s raising her brow at him again but he doesn’t notice, jaw fallen slack at the sight below him. He slides backwards a bit and lowers his body fully, mouth capturing her nipple and, fuck, she can feel him hard against her thigh. Her back is arching again, but this time  because of the way his tongue circles her bud and then drags over it, and she’s grasping at his hair, eliciting another growl. 

Realizing they need to lose layers and quickly — they’re due back on set in 30 minutes — she’s tugging his suit jacket from his shoulders and he pulls it the rest of the way off, joining her shirt somewhere on the floor. She attacks the buttons of his Oxford next — difficult with his head between her arms, but she sure as hell isn’t asking him to move — and soon that’s tossed to the floor as well. 

David pushes himself into a kneeling position and she will never admit it later but she whimpers,  _fucking whimpers_ , when his mouth leaves her breast. He’s chucking as he unzips her trousers and tugs them off along with her knickers. 

He’s just staring at her again and she imagines she’s a sight, all panting and flushed and tangled hair splayed out against the cushions. She bends her knees, locking her legs together coyly, swaying them back and forth, left eyebrow flying up. 

His gaze is serious as his hand slowly slides between her legs, pushing them apart just enough to reach the apex of her thighs. Now it’s her mouth that’s fallen slack as he slides two fingers into her, so fucking slowly, curling on their way out. 

"Fuck Bill, you’re so wet," he says, mouth against her knee, and all she can do is make small noises of appreciation as his fingers pick up speed. He kisses his way down her thigh until she can feel his breath over her clit, a taunt if there ever was one. She’s tugging at his hair again, needing to feel him there, and he acquiesces readily, tongue skirting around the edges before running along the small bundle of nerves. 

She moans again, a wordless plea, a throaty sound that echoes through the room and hopefully not, but quite possibly, into the hallway. Billie drapes her leg over his back and she swears she can feel an eyebrow arch against her thigh. 

David shifts and she hears a zip and she’s dragging him up her body by his hair, releasing him to help shove his trousers and pants off. The wardrobe team is going to need several irons, she thinks, as the remainder of his clothes fall to the floor. 

Snaking her hand between their bodies Billie strokes him, feeling the extent of his hardness and growing even wetter, if that was possible. As her thumb brushes over his tip David closes his eyes, hips thrusting into her hand. She shifts and lines him up with her entrance, touching his cheek so he opens his eyes, seeing the desire she feels reflected back at her. 

He’s kissing her, slow and tender, and she’s moaning before he’s even pushing inside her, but he does, swiftly, and she gasps into his mouth. David pulls his head back to look at her as he begins to move, slow, steady thrusts, and they’re just gaping at each other, panting, wondering why they hadn’t done this sooner, wondering why she didn’t drag him home with her after they met at Julie’s.

His thumb rolls her nipple and she brings her lips to his once more, biting his bottom lip until he growls, running her hands through his hair before scraping her nails down his back. 

Reaching with one hand, David grabs the arm of the couch above her head, using it for leverage, and fuck,  _fuck_ , he’s so deep, so deep and moving faster. She leans up to bite his neck, smothering a moan against his skin at the slight change in angle, locking her legs around his back.

His hand leaves her breast, skims along her side, and he’s pressing his thumb against her clit, moving in strong, fast, maddening strokes. Billie feels her orgasm building and her breath catches, mouth opening and closing as no sound comes out. His hips are moving even faster, driving into her, groaning in her ear, and  _holy fucking shit_ they’re coming together, loud and messy and grasping.

He collapses on top of her, not bothering to pull out, not that she was going to let him. He buries his face in her shoulder as their chests heave against each other, breathing falling into a succinct rhythm.  

David leans back to look at her, brushing a strand of hair away from her eyes, and kisses her so deeply she worries about what he might say when he’s done. What she was tempted to say in the throws of it all. 

"So, not upset then?" he says when his lips eventually leave hers, and she can’t help but let out a breath in relief. One massive step at a time.

"Definitely not upset," she replies, snuggling into his neck. 

"And my ‘little moves,’ as you so eloquently put it?"

"Nothing little about them."

"You know, I think we should work that thing you said into the scene," he says, stroking her collar bone.

"What thing?" she asks skeptically. 

"Oh it was something along the lines of ‘fuck yes harder’ if I recall correctly." She digs her fingers into his side, making him squirm. 

"I did  _not_  say that.”

"You did! You most certainly did, and I’m saving that for later," he says, tapping his temple with his fingers. 

"You’re awful!" she says, tightening her arms around his back. “I have no recollection of that whatsoever.”

"You say that, Piper, but remember — you’re the one who attacked me with your sexual advances," he says, arching an eyebrow once more. Hers ascends too and they hold those looks for a while, pulling faces at each other until they dissolve into giggles.

He shifts and she can feel him growing hard inside her again and her heart beats a little faster at the thought. She makes a mental note to flip the cushions on the couch.

"Do you think they’ll miss us if we’re late coming back from lunch," she says, fingers tracing his spine.

"Nah," he says. "They can muddle through without us."


End file.
